Soft petals shroud this weathered rose,
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in feathered down and retinue,
great burdens shed death's brief repose,
while bitter winds gnaw skin's scant clothes
through broken teeth of gray, and blew.
As grain lies lifeless on the wheel,
in turn, it's crushed to yield fine wheat.
With age the sprouting stalks reveal,
the choicest harvest for the meal,
and grinding halts make bread's knead sweet.
As rivers wind down hill and rock,
relentless waves greet ocean crowds,
o'er timeless tracks still waters walk
to rest on beds in key and loch,
then pass away into the clouds.